


I'm holding my breath for you

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Humor, is that a thing?, oh well, personal chef au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke needs money, so she can pay her side of the rent and keep Raven off her back. She needs a job, and being a personal chef to young billionaire Lexa Woods is a great opportunity, that is, until she gets a little too personal. And then things just get complicated.<br/>A Young & Hungry AU with side Octaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And it's up! Hope y'all enjoy

There are three things Clarke Griffin realises as she stands in the marble floored elevator in what is possible the most expensive building she has ever been in. The first is that rich people love shiny things, like  _love_ them. Gold laces around every wall in the small box, even the buttons for each floor, which have been worn away by plastic fingernails and time, shine reflectively in the yellow lights.

The second thing she realises is that there’s a reason why people buy the iPhones with endless storage, and it’s because she could’ve eaten a three course meal in the time it takes the elevator to reach the Penthouse apartment.

The third thing she realises is that there’s a tea stain on her sweater, from when Raven jolted her arm whilst she was making breakfast. Sighing, Clarke takes off the jumper and holds it under her arm. It feels heavy, like its anchoring her to the ground when all she wants to do is fly. Uncertainly, she places it in the back corner of the elevator. Sure it cost her five dollars but it’s not going to cost her her dream job. She can’t have bad luck, not today.

Finally, the elevator pings and Clarke rushes out. In front of her is a wooden door, smooth and polished. There’s a few paintings floating in the hallway, each one delicately painted and she just wants to reach out and touch one, absorb the talent and passion squeezed into each canvas.

Holding out her hands, she winces at the way her chipped blue fingernails contrast with the orange sunset sky of one of the paintings and retracts her arm as if it had moved to bite her. Everything in the hallway is spotless, from the carpet to the walls and Clarke hasn’t even entered the billionaire’s lair yet. Straightening her back, she knocks three times, knuckles firm against the wooden pane.

The door opens after a few seconds, and Clarke smiles as she comes face to face with a girl who looks about her age. Her dark hair is tied back at the top, but flows down over her shoulders, accentuating her jaw. She cocks an eyebrow.

“Uh hi.” Clarke waves, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in her clothes – some black jeans (they’re smart right?) and a light blue shirt that she stole from Raven’s ‘work closet’. “I’m here for the chef position.”

Blue eyes twinkling, the girl purses her lips. “You need to use the service entrance.” The door shuts.

A twinge of annoyance floods through Clarke and she glares at the door for a second before looking down the hallway, determination pumping into her blood as her eyes find another door. Running down to it, she knocks, and the same girl answers with a small smile on her face.

“Please tell me this is the right door.” Clarke can’t help but leak some anger into the exasperation in her voice.

Tilting her head to one side, the girl grins. “It’s the next one.”

Huffing, Clarke runs to the final door and knocks. The girl opens the door and pulls her inside. “At last.” Clarke mumbles.

“You’re here for the chef position?” The girl asks, but it must be rhetorical because she keeps talking. “I’m Octavia, I clean for Ms. Woods. My brother, Bellamy, is just interviewing someone else who came in for the position. What’s your name?”

“Clarke.” Clarke is looking behind Octavia at the grandeur of the room. “Clarke Griffin.” Her voice is fuzzy in her head as she steps forwards past Octavia. The apartment has high ceilings, making it seem emptier than it is, and lights fall from it like jewellery. There’s a black leather sofa close to the door, opposite a television that probably cost more than Clarke’s car. All of the countertops are polished marble and cleaned to perfection, probably due to Octavia, and there’s a small open kitchen towards the back. The whole place is the definition of modern aesthetic, a puzzle of magnificence with money crammed into every piece. “This place is amazing!”

“Tell me about it.” Octavia smiles.

“Look at this!” Clarke rushes towards the other end of the apartment, where there is a wall of windows reaching from ceiling to floor, with a glass door leading onto a balcony. “It’s beautiful.” She stares down at the city, eyes melding the green and the grey together in the sunlight.

“Octavia what are you doing?” Comes another voice. It’s male and caring, but also demanding and Clarke turns to the source. In the middle of the room stands a man. He’s tall and has dark hair like Octavia’s, which falls in long curls over his forehead.

“Clarke’s here for the chef position.” Octavia answers, before turning to Clarke. “Clarke, this is my brother Bellamy. He’s Ms Woods’ PA.”

“Clarke…?” Bellamy tilts his head slightly to one side.

“Griffin.” Stepping forward, Clarke holds out her hand.

Bellamy glances down at it, before looking back up. “The position’s filled.”

Swallowing, Clarke feels her heart sink slowly, like a punctured balloon. “What?”

“Bell.” Octavia begins. “It wasn’t filled five minutes ago.”

“And it is now.” Bellamy smiles. “I just finished interviewing Chanel Darrington and she’s amazing.”

“Chanel Darrington!” Clarke gasps. “The chef?”

“No Chanel Darrington the gardener.” Bellamy snaps, sarcastically. “Yes of course the chef.”

Excitement rushes through Clarke, but it’s quickly replaced by disappointment as she realises that this means there’s no way she’ll get the job. She can kiss goodbye to this overpriced apartment and probably her apartment too since she won’t have money for the rent. And then, come to think of it, she can probably kiss goodbye to life because Raven would kill her.

“Oh come on.” Octavia groans. “You only like her because she’s hot, it has nothing to do with her food. Give Clarke a chance.”

Watching the exchange, Clarke smiles slightly at how Octavia seems to be on her side. “Let me cook you a sample dinner.” She steps forwards, standing strong as Bellamy glares at her. “It can be anything just let me try.” Her mind races, trying to think of an impressive recipe, she almost zones out before focusing on Bellamy again.

Pressing his lips together, Bellamy’s eyes flit from Clarke to Octavia. He sighs. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Octavia grins, stretching up onto her tip toes to ruffle Bellamy’s hair. “Thanks big brother.”

“I have stuff to do.” Bellamy’s voice is stern but there’s a hint of a smile on his face as he rearranges his hair back to a neater position. Turning, he walks out of the room.

“So” Clarke begins. “What now?”

“I guess you cook.” Octavia shrugs, before turning around to walk into another room, her hands grasped behind her back.

“Wait.” Clarke’s heart thumps. “Why did you help me?” She goes to reach out but then pulls her hand back.

“Because” Octavia turns again so that she’s facing Clarke. “You seem fun. And I’m so done with Bellamy, I love him but he’s so... ugh.” Octavia rolls her eyes.

“What about Ms Woods.” Clarke shrugs. “Surely she’s good company.”

Smiling, Octavia shakes her head. “Lexa Woods is something else.” She mock whispers, covering her hand with her mouth. “Not that she’s got a stick up her ass but she’s got a massive stick up her ass.”

“Oh.” Clarke is taken aback. Up until this moment Octavia had only spoken of her boss with respect. “She can’t be that bad.”

Slowly, Octavia’s mouth turns into a knowing smile. “If you say so.”

“Um.” Clarke is stuck on what to say next, not wanting to slag off her possible future boss. She shifts, tattered shoes moving slightly against the cream carpet floor.

“I mean.” Octavia shrugs. “Her sister’s nice, but she hardly ever comes round. And the head of her PR team is scary but also cool.” Octavia turns a silver ring on her thumb, eyes down as she does. “Only a couple of people can make Lexa Woods smile and I am not one of them.” She sighs heavily, her shoulders falling as she speaks and Clarke wants to reach out and hug her but she doesn’t.

Behind Clarke a door opens and voices fill the room. Widening her eyes, Octavia mumbles. “Speak of the devil.”

Eagerly, Clarke turns around to get a glance of Lexa Woods, but her view is obscured by a woman with golden skin and high cheekbones, unevenly plaited hair falling in light brown waves down her back. 

“I think she’ll love it Lexa, but are you sure this is the right time?” The woman speaks tenderly, as if she is talking to a child.

“Yes I’m sure.” Comes a clipped tone, before it softens. “You’ve met Cos, Anya, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I know.” The woman, Anya, smiles slightly. “I’m just glad my baby sister is happy.”

“I’m not a baby.” Scoffing, the second person storms forwards and into Clarke’s vision.

Clarke has seen Lexa Woods before, of course she has. Having managed to work her way into a fortune by twenty four, Lexa’s face is on every magazine, photos shot in superb lighting and stylized to make her look breath taking and show the world that you really can be smart and pretty. Lexa is an outlier in the eyes of the media, a young billionaire and a woman who’s clawed her way to the top and still looks like she’s an escaped model, a runway runaway. 

It’s nothing compared to how she looks in real life.

Her hair is down, falling in brown curls past her face as she grins at Anya, green eyes lit up effortlessly. The windows behind her allow sunlight to pour over her like molten gold and Clarke thinks that Lexa is a person designed to wear the sun. Her arms are bare, her torso covered by a white tank top and there are tattoos that the magazines never mentioned slithering up her arms, intricately designed and perfectly suited to her beauty.

Unexplainable relief shoots through Clarke at the sight. It’s an inexplicable feeling, as if she stumbled upon a long forgotten childhood toy.

“You’re drooling.” Octavia whispers gleefully in Clarke’s ear, and Clarke shuts her mouth quickly, straightening her back.

“No I wasn’t.” She denies.

“Uh huh.” Octavia presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Sure thing Griffin.”

“Octavia.” Lexa is looking straight at them, and she speaks sternly, her soft voice hardening around the edges. 

“Yes.” Octavia visibly tenses as she steps forwards.

“For god’s sake Octavia I don’t bite.” Lexa sighs.

Tilting her head slightly, Octavia shoots Clarke a look that suggests otherwise, but nevertheless steps forwards. “Yes Ms Woods.”

“Do you think Costia will like this ring?” Lexa holds out her palm and Clarke strains to see the shiny object in her hand. Anya moves to sit next to Lexa, slowly lowering herself onto the couch so as not to disturb her.

Octavia breathes, the sound of air rushing in to fill the gap in conversation like a river flooding into a crystalline lake. “It’s beautiful.”

Edging forwards a little, Clarke gets a closer look. The ring sits flat on Lexa’s palm, a silver band, simple, with a diamonds blossoming out of it like crystal flowers, roots stuck in the metal. The cold colours contrast with the tan of Lexa’s skin. “Whoa.” Clarke murmurs.

Beaming, Lexa looks up. “Exactly.” When her eyes meet Clarkes she smiles and Clarke swears she feels the entire earth move beneath her feet. Her heart swells and she feels free, smiling slightly back at Lexa. She feels as if she’s sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool on a hot summer’s day, surrounded by muffled laughter and watching rays of light dance over her skin. The moment passes and Lexa turns to looks at Octavia. “Octavia, who’s this?”

“Oh.” Octavia stumbles over to Clarke, all fumbling hands and shaky legs as she grabs her and pulls her forwards. “This is Clarke Griffin. She’s applying for your chef position.”

Clarke rushes forwards, smiling and shaking Lexa’s hand. “Hi!” She gushes, making sure to clamp her mouth closed before she can say anything awkward.

“Hello?” Lexa is still holding Clarke’s hand and it’s nice, pleasantly warm and Clarke feels as if she should clasp at Lexa’s hand and never let go. Which is crazy, so she drops it, sliding her thumb into her jean pocket.

“Hi.” Clarke says again, but this time it’s less rushed and more breathless.

“Hi.” Lexa looks amused and beside her Anya rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the entire exchange. “So what are you cooking?”

Mind racing, Clarke side eyes Octavia, who shrugs unhelpfully, the sleeves of her dress straining at the rise in her shoulders. “Um, how are you feeling?”

Lexa lips turn up slightly at the corners and she raises her eyebrows, leaning back against the leather of the couch. “Tired. I just got off a flight.”

“Okay.” Clarke clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth thinking for a second before a memory of Raven coming off a post-Christmas flight pops into her mind, filling the blankness of her brain with colour, bright and hopeful. Clarke smiles, looking at Lexa with determination. “I know exactly what you want.”

*

“Grilled cheese?” Anya has her arms crossed as she leans over the kitchen counter, lips drawn up into a scowl.  “Are you serious?”

“Yep.” Clarke refuses to be swayed, flipping the sandwich onto a blue plate. Grinning she slides it over to Lexa, who’s sitting at the counter, eyes shining in the kitchen light. “Here you go.”

Glowering at Clarke with distaste, Anya scoffs. “It doesn’t count if the name of the food is the recipe.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “That just makes it easier to understand.”

Leaning forwards against the counter, Lexa picks up the sandwich. “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.” Gingerly, she lifts the sandwich up to her lips, taking a bite. Cheese drips out of the other end of the bread like molten lava and Lexa closes her eyes. “Ugh.”

Smiling hesitantly, Clarke talks as if she’s just handed in an essay for a final grade. “Is that a good ugh?”

“Yes.” Lexa smiles.” You were right.”

Anya groans. “Come on! You never eat junk food!”

“Well I am now.” Lexa snaps, glaring at Anya, before turning back to Clarke and softening. “Thank you, Clarke, this is exactly what I needed.”

“No problem.” Clarke lifts her heels up off the floor in a little jump. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Anya blocks the way. “You can cook an actual meal maybe?”

Taken aback by the harshness, Clarke blinks. “Okay.”

“Hmm.” Lexa has a mouthful of grilled cheese, which she swallows quickly before standing up. She’s taller than Clarke, only by a little but it’s emphasized by the straightness of her back and the tilt of her chin. She stands like royalty, as if she is balancing a book on her head and is scared to let it drop. Turning to Anya, she whispers something inaudible in her ear, to which Anya responds with a curt nod, eyes flicking to Clarke who shifts uneasily.

“Okay, Clarke.” Lexa steps forwards, into Clarke’s space, and okay she really didn’t have to do that because now Clarke can’t focus on anything other than the fact her hands have suddenly turned to lead and the way Lexa’s breath washes in and out like waves over her lips.

Clarke takes a step back. 

Face unreadable, Lexa continues. “I want you to cook dinner for Costia and I tonight, if it goes well, you get the job.” She stops, words suspending in the air. “But there’s one condition.”

Heart in throat, Clarke breathes out slowly. “What?”

Lexa holds out her fist, unfurling it to reveal the engagement ring. “It has to be good enough so that Costia says yes.”

*

“So you got the job?” Raven stands in the middle of their cramped apartment, wearing a tidy red dress and a blazer, with her hands on her hips.

Hauling the six bags of shopping onto the table, Clarke huffs. “Yes. Well, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Raven looks unimpressed. “Well then, what’s all this?” She waves her hand at the groceries, eyebrows raised.

“Ha ha.” Clarke laughs sarcastically. “You see the thing is, I just have to make a dinner good enough so that her girlfriend says yes to a proposal.” She shrugs, eyes wide. “Nothing big you know.”

“Clarke?” Raven steps forwards, her brown hair isn’t in its usual ponytail, instead flowing over her shoulders and the red lipstick she wore for work in the morning has faded. “You okay there?”

Pouting, Clarke slumps onto their tattered couch. “Ugh.”

“Aww.” Raven puts on the voice she uses when she talks to her baby cousin Charlotte. “Clarkey poo don’t be upset.”

Feeling the hint of a smile begin to stretch at her lips, Clarke grabs one of the mismatched cushions next to her and throws it in Raven’s face. “Don’t be condescending.”

“Ooh that was a big word Griffin, I guess Lexa Woods was impressionable.” Grinning, Raven raises an eyebrow, laughter glittering in her brown eyes. Her phone dings loudly but she ignores it.

“Yeah and her apartment was much nicer too.” Clarke teases. “I might just ask to move in and leave you here.”

“Yeah?” Raven turns around, moving over to the faded kitchen cupboard to grab herself a glass. “Well then maybe I could get a roommate who actually pays her rent on time.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke picks up the television remote. “Bite me, Reyes.”

Turning on the television, Clarke can’t help but compare their apartment to Lexa’s. Their walls are badly wallpapered, with questionable stains at the edges. She can’t remember the last time someone cleaned, and consequently almost all of the floor space is taken up, as if her and Raven are living tsunamis and they’ve dumped everything on the shoreline. From the faded couch, Clarke can see at least three bras and… is that Chinese takeaway? More importantly is it out of date yet?

Turning around, Clarke watches Raven on her phone, etched into the canvas of their kitchen. It’s tiny – a light blue fridge takes up the back corner, next to an oven and the sink. Behind it there are two windows with cracked white paint lining the panes, the glass reflecting the fiery colours of the evening sky off the neighbouring brick wall.

“How did you buy all this food anyway?” Raven peers into a plastic bag, putting down her phone.

“Lexa gave me a credit card.” Clarke shrugs. “Said she wanted it to be perfect.”

Gasping, Raven looks up. “Griffin! Have you found yourself a sugar daddy?”

“Jesus Raven!” Clarke scowls. “Shut up. That’s so wrong on so many levels, plus she’s getting engaged tonight hopefully.”

“You would though.” Raven smirks knowingly.

Shaking her head, Clarke smiles. “I’m not that kind of gal.”

“Sure thing.” Raven laughs. “I know  _all_  your secrets.”

“Hey Raven, remember that one time you got super drunk and tried to sleep with my mom.”

Raven stops, pointing her finger at Clarke. “We promised to never talk about that incident!”

“Whoops.” Clarke shrugs, smiling. She looks at her wrist. “Oh shit, time to go. See you.”

Grabbing the shopping bags, Clarke leaves the apartment, hearing a muffled “You don’t even wear a watch!” as she shuts the stained wooden door.

*

When Clarke lets herself into Lexa’s penthouse, she can hear the shower running faintly through the walls. The sky has darkened considerably since she left Raven, the windows at the end of the apartment gloomy, making the lit up city below look like embers of a dying fire. Checking her phone, Clarke realises there’s only about two hours until Costia arrives.

Dragging the food over to the kitchen, she begins to work, slicing and prepping duck, which she places in the middle of a tray. It’s eerily quiet, Octavia and Bellamy’s shift having ended, and Clarke hums as she preheats the oven. Something brushes against her legs, making her jump, and she looks down to see a cat with a glossy ginger coat staring up at her with yellowy eyes. It mews softly.

“Hello there.” Clarke bends down, scratching the cat under the chin. “I didn’t know Lexa had a cat.”

The cat meows again, nudging Clarkes hand with its head and turning in a circle. “You’ve very cute.” Clarke smiles stroking the soft animal. “I have cooking to do though I’m sorry.”

Just then, off key singing starts echoing through the walls. A smirk slowly forms on Clarke’s face as she stands up, picking up the knife and cutting some vegetables. She recognises the song, it’s an old chart topper that Raven couldn’t stop singing last summer and not that bad, but it sounds completely different when Lexa Woods is belting it out at the top of her lungs in the shower. It sounds like rain and lazy days and dancing in the kitchen, fluffy socks sliding over clean tiles and laughter erupting from lungs. Chuckling, Clarke finishes prepping the vegetables and lays them in the tray, placing it in the oven.

She begins to set the table, pulling out the fancy tablecloth and candles she bought with the food. By the time she’s finished, putting a vase of yellow flowers in the middle of it as a finishing touch, the singing in the shower has stopped. The timer beeps and Clarke moves over to the oven humming the song that Lexa was singing. Pulling the duck out of the oven, she swings her hips from side to side, murmuring the words that Raven made so sure she knew.

Clarke pours the juices from the tray into a pan on the stove, singing to herself and dancing, moving her feet to the rhythm of her words and stirring the sauce in time. She thrusts her bum out to the song, the way she and Raven do at home when they crank the radio up loud and forget the world exists, except this time it hits something solid. Clarke freezes.

“Clarke.” Comes an amused voice from behind her and Clarke spins to come face to face with Lexa. She’s just out of the shower and her hair is still damp, curly from the water. Her skin is glowing and she smells like coconut body wash and she’s so close and oh god Clarke just shoved her bum into her boss’s crotch.

Flushing, Clarke leans back against the oven to try and put some sort of space between her and Lexa. “Uh, hi.”

Lexa doesn’t seem to notice the invasion of the personal bubble, or doesn’t care, instead her green eyes grow curious as she glances behind Clarke at the stove. “What are you making?”

“Duck.” Clarke answers and Lexa nods a little to prompt her to say more. Clarke smiles nervously. “It’s my dad’s old recipe, he used to cook it at special occasions. It’ll be good I promise.”

“I should hope so.” Lexa’s voice is strong but Clarke can sense the nervousness beneath it like white noise, constantly in the background.

“Don’t worry.” Clarke reassures. “She’s going to say yes.”

Stepping back, Lexa nods, throat bobbing. She stands for a moment, looking so small and young in her massive apartment and Clarke begins to realise something. The apartment is glamourous and Lexa has enough money to never work again, but it isn’t enough. She’s twenty four years old and alone and living in a space big enough for a whole family. She  _needs_  Costia to say yes.

She’s about to tell Lexa to go dry her hair and get ready when a loud ringtone cuts through the air. Slowly, Lexa pulls her phone out her pocket, her face breaking into a smile when she sees the screen. “It’s her.” She grins and Clarke feels a weird twist in her gut, as if someone pinched her heart a little too hard.

Ignoring it, she winks at Lexa. “Go get her.”

Lexa leaves the room and Clarke puts the final touches on dinner. It smells reminiscent to old family dinners around oak tables and she finds herself filled with nostalgia. The dull ache which constantly sits in her heart becomes more noticeable as she thinks about her dads laughter as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder whilst he cooked, letting her stir the spoons and press the buttons on the mixer. Shaking it off, Clarke pulls the hot tray out the oven when Lexa walks back inside.

“I don’t think Costia’s going to be here when we thought.” She says.

“Oh, that’s okay.” Clarke doesn’t look up, putting the tray back on the shelf in the oven. “I can keep this warm for half an hour or so.”

“No.” Looking up at the drop in Lexa’s voice, Clarke feels her own heart plummet at the sight of fiddling fingers on frayed fabric and downcast eyes, as if they are avoiding the sun. “She isn’t coming.”

Jumping in, Clarke tires to rescue the situation, but it feels like holding a tissue to an amputated limb. “I can cook again.” She clarifies. “Tomorrow.”

“She’s not coming back tomorrow.” Lexa sits down on the floor defeated, her voice a flat line heartbeat monitor. “She wants to take a break.”

Clarke feels helpless, like a clueless aunt left with the new born baby. She knows that everyone needs different things in a break up; she needs alcohol and Raven needs space. The problem is she doesn’t  _know_ Lexa. They met only a few hours ago and now all Clarke can do is shuffle over and awkwardly place a hand on her shoulder. “Did she say why?”

“Not really.” Lexa doesn’t react to Clarke’s hand, instead staring dead forward eyes boring into nothing.

Desperately looking about, Clarke’s eyes halt on the pot still simmering on the stove. “Well, there’s a whole meal that needs eating now. May as well not let that go to waste.”

Sighing, Lexa shakes her head. It’s a tiny fraction of movement but Clarke notices. “I don’t really feel like eating right now, but you go ahead.”

Stubborn, Clarke moves forwards, grabbing the closest dish. “Not even mashed potatoes?” She pouts, jutting out her bottom lip as she lifts up a spoon heaped with mash.

A tiny smile slithers onto Lexa’s face, which she conceals by pressing her lips together in a fine line. “I like mashed potatoes.”

“With lots of cream and butter?” Clarke grins, waving the spoon in Lexa’s face.

“I like cream and butter.” Lexa returns the smile fully, opening her mouth. Swiftly, Clarke puts the spoon in Lexa’s mouth, desperately hoping she didn’t misinterpret the signs. Reaching up to take the spoon, Lexa brushes her hand against Clarkes and it feels like a hug on a sad day, warm and unexpected but so, so needed and there’s an almost irresistible temptation to hold on. Clarke pulls her hand back and Lexa swallows the potato, smiling softly. “Thank you Clarke.” It’s very sincere and Clarke feels her heart tear a little at the weight behind the words. Lexa sounds so tired, as if she’s finished with the world, dried up of all she has to give. Clarke aches with her.

“I’ll tell you what.” Clarke decides to go with her method of coping, throwing everything else out the window. “There’s a pretty expensive bottle of champagne on that table. You need to get drunk, I like free drinks and we both need company, so what do you say?”

There’s a long silence where Clarke thinks she’s misjudged. From what Octavia’s told her, Lexa isn’t an open person, and Clarke sees the ice in her eyes as she stares at her, brows slightly furrowed as if she’s trying to work out a hard equation. But there’s something else too, a softness that tells Clarke that perhaps Lexa isn’t as cold as everyone thinks, something that makes Clarke say stupid things like ‘let’s get drunk’ and it doesn’t sound inappropriate. Slowly, Lexa’s face melts, a smile blossoming in the springtime of her eyes and she nods. “I think I’d like that, Clarke.”

*

“Okay what’s your favourite feeling?” Clarke’s definitely had one glass too many, which isn’t that much to be honest, there’s a reason she’s always the one who gets drunk first at parties. Clarke Griffin is a lightweight, which causes much merciless teasing on Raven’s end.

They’re sitting on the balcony and a breeze runs frostily through the night. Lexa looks down, over the edge of the balcony and Clarke wants to draw the way that the city lights reflect over her face. She wants to sketch Lexa in every way actually – everything about her desires to be captured, the curve of her lips and the wave in her hair.

“I just like being outside.” Lexa shrugs, the glass in her hand chiming as she shivers in the cold air. Her breath shakes. “What about you?”

Looking up, Clarke bites softly on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “The feeling of travelling at night always makes me feel like I’m in love?”

“In love with travelling?” Lexa’s curiosity spikes in her voice.

“Yeah.” Clarke shrugs. “But also no.” She turns to Lexa, catching her eyes which are so dark under the night sky. “You know that feeling of sitting in a car and everything is drowsy, and you lean your head against the window and let the streetlights flash over your face. And if it’s raining you can hear it on the outside of the metal and it blurs the road until you don’t know where you are anymore and the radio’s fuzzy in the background. That’s my favourite feeling.”

There’s the hint of a smile on Lexa’s face. “Why?”

Clarke sighs. “It’s just so freeing. Like you could go anywhere and do anything. The whole world could be yours.”

Humouring Clarke, Lexa turns to face her. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink Clarke.”

“It’s like stepping outside in the dead of night and seeing that the sky is full of stars.” Clarke continues. “It feels endless. Like love.”

“Love isn’t endless.” Lexa replies sadly.

“No.” Clarke shuffles closer, taking Lexa’s hand. “Don’t think about it!”

“I can’t help it.” Whining, Lexa grips at Clarkes hand subconsciously. “I don’t understand.”

“Here drink this.” Clarke hands Lexa her glass and watches as she downs it, her throat bobbing with the liquid. Some of it misses her lips and trickles off her chin, stroking down her neck and pooling in the dents above her collarbones. Clarke feels her mouth go dry. “Whoa.”

“What?” The air is heavy as Lexa speaks, charged like a nebula and exploding into luminescent colours around Clarkes head.

“You ought to be careful.” Clarke smirks. “You drink too much too fast and you never know what will happen.”

“Nothing good I’m sure.” Lexa shrugs. “It can’t get much worse anyway, so who cares?”

“Hey.” Reaching out, Clarke places a hand on Lexa’s cheek. She’s always touchy when she’s drunk, which is embarrassing in most situations but it’s late and Lexa’s skin is so soft as she leans into the touch, blinking slowly. “No thinking about it.”

“Okay.” Lexa’s face is very close now and it briefly flashes through Clarke’s mind that this is what was happening all along. Their breaths dance, intermingling in the night sky like wood smoke.

Glancing down, Lexa breathes out slowly. “Maybe we should go inside.”

Staying still, Clarke speaks, but the words are muffled as if she’s talking underwater. “Maybe we should.” She can’t really focus on anything other than the beat of her own heart, echoing out into the spaces between skyscrapers, rebounding off black glass.

She needs to say something, anything, to break the tension that’s fallen somewhere in between her breath and Lexa’s lips. “Thank you for letting me cook.”

Lexa nods, slowly, dragging her vision up from Clarke’s lips to her eyes. “It was only fair to give the opportunity.” She smiles. “You’ve got the job you know. The meal was really great.”

“Thank you.” Clarke is floating in clear water, her heart light and happy. There’s so much left to say balancing on the end of her tongue, questions suspend themselves in the air and buzz with static as their eyes drift together once again. Lexa is a star, burning with endless beauty as Clarke is drawn into her orbit. She’s the sand and Lexa is the sea and Clarke wants to dance in the waves, spiral and flow with the current. Opening her mouth, Clarke speaks. “Just wait until you see dessert.”

It’s probably an invitation and definitely the wrong thing to say, but there’s only milliseconds of hesitation before Lexa leans in, connecting their warm mouths against the cold night, and Clarke has never doubted herself less.

*

She wakes up in a bed that’s not her own. The sheets are expensive and silky and they smell different, not in a bad way, but in a ‘not dollar store laundry detergent’ way. Clarke yawns, stretching out her arms and waking up slowly, like the sun rising softly into the morning clouds. Her hands hit something warm and her eyes snap open, immediately alert. Shifting her body, Clarke nervously glances across the bed, memories malevolently floating into her head.

Sure enough, Lexa lies next to her. She’s sleeping, eyes closed and face peaceful. Her dark hair is splayed out across the pillow, tangled in places like knotted rope. Propping herself up onto her elbow, Clarke smiles slightly as she watches Lexa breath gently. Her lips are slightly parted and her arm hangs off the other side of the bed.

Slowly, the smile drops off Clarke’s face as sense sneaks up on her. She slept with Lexa. She  _slept with_  Lexa. Her and her boss  _had sex._

“Shit.” The word disrupts the calm water of the room, rippling out conspicuously. “Shit.” Clarke says it again for good measure. Her mind races, maybe if she leaves Lexa won’t remember. Or maybe she will but they won’t mention it, leaving it to fester forever in the back of their minds, ignoring it.

Blindly feeling about, Clarke grabs the white top Lexa was wearing yesterday and chucks it on, sliding out of the bed. She picks her stuff up off the floor, crouched down and tiptoeing, accumulating an armful of crumpled clothes. Silently, she begins to move out of the room, past Lexa towards the door.

“Lexa!” The muffled sound of the front door swinging open echoes through the walls of the apartment and Lexa stirs, opening her eyes. Clarke freezes, looking at her with thin pressed lips.

“Clarke?” Lexa’s voice is bleary, her eyes lazily drifting into contact with Clarkes. “Why are you in my room…?” She sits up, suddenly, the duvet falling to her waist and Clarke can’t look away from the curve of her back and the tattoos lacing their way across her skin. Reddening, Lexa pulls the duvet up to cover her breasts. “Shit.” She murmurs and Clarke feels hysterical laughter bubble up in her throat at the word. Lexa’s eyes widen. “Did we?”

Feeling like she’s telling someone their pet died, Clarke nods. “Yep.”

“Are you sure?”

“So sure.”

The voice echoes through the apartment again. “Lexa, how did it go?” It’s getting closer, the death toll of footsteps on the landing pounding ever closer.

Eyes full of fear, Lexa whispers. “Anya.” She jumps out of the bed, fully naked, and grabs Clarke by the bicep. “Clarke you have to get into my cupboard.”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head, pulling her arm loose and willing her eyes to stay on Lexa’s face. “No way. I told myself I was never going back to the closet and I stand by that rule.” She grins, before sobering up and adding. “Also I can’t deal with small spaces.”

“Yes you can.” Lexa isn’t amused, and she pushes Clarke back into the entrance of the cupboard.

There’s a knocking on the door. “You decent?” Anya asks through the wood.

Lexa looks at Clarke, her eyes wide and pleading. She gulps a little, throat bobbing softly before she quietly says. “For me?”

“Fine.” Clarke huffs, backing into the closet. “But you owe me!” The door shuts in her face.

*

“Wait, how long were you in there?” Raven laughs. She’s slumped across the couch, back against the arm and legs thrown over Clarkes lap. Her phone is clutched in her right hand and, her makeup is tired from the day, faded eyeliner and chipped nails.

Jutting out her bottom lip, Clarke replies. “Two hours. Bellamy found me eventually. He wasn’t very impressed.”

Raven throws back her head as laughter escapes her mouth.

“I’m glad you find this funny.” Clarke dips the spoon into the ice cream she’s eating, hauling out a massive chunk and licking it.

“You slept with your boss about two minutes into the job.” Raven grins. “That’s a new record for you Griffin.”

Clarke groans. “I can never go back.”

“Nope.” Raven smiles.

“This was my dream job.” Clarke pouts. “Why do I ruin everything?”

The smile falling from her face, Raven leans forwards. “Clarke, you don’t ‘ruin everything’.” There’s a pause, before Raven adds. “You just think with your vagina that’s all.”

Gasping, Clarke moves her arm to hit Raven, but instead flicks ice cream everywhere. She ignores it. “I do not!”

“You so do!” Raven teases. “You’re worse than most of the guys I know. And you knew Lexa Woods was hot going in! Hell, I hate anything corporate and I can still agree that she’s a fine piece of ass.”

“Stop talking.” Clarke demands, scooping more ice cream into her mouth.

“Fine.” Raven picks up her phone.

A few minutes pass by, the tapping of Raven’s phone ricocheting around the small room, before Clarke’s stubbornness is overtaken with curiosity. “Who are you texting?” She asks, sulkily.

“None of your business.” Raven replies, a smile sneaking onto her lips.

“I just told you I slept with my boss.” It’s a good point.

“Fine.” Raven sighs. “I joined a dating site.”

Now it’s Clarke’s turn to laugh. “ _You_ ,” she grins. “Joined a  _dating site._ ”

Glaring at Clarke, Raven huffs. “That’s what I said isn’t it. Plus it’s not that bad - once you get past the weirdos there’s a few hot people on here.”

“Didn’t anyone ever warn you about stranger danger?” Clarke teases playfully. She knows that Raven can take care of herself, but it’s fun to annoy her.

“You sound like my mom.” Raven sighs. “Anyway I’m here, talking to a real cute girl and you’re there, making out with ice cream and mourning the death of your professional reputation. So who’s the real winner here?”

Slapping Raven’s leg, Clarke moans. “Shut up.”

“You better hope it was only your dignity you left behind at that apartment.” Raven smirks.

Mind racing, Clarke ponders over Raven’s words. She made sure to collect all her clothes, but she has that acidic feeling like she’s forgotten something niggling at the back of her mind. Like packing for a vacation and getting halfway when you realise you left your toothbrush sitting in the translucent cup about your toothpaste stained sink. Or the feeling of leaving a book for too long and realising you’re either going to have to abandon it or start again. “Fuck.”

“You left something behind didn’t you?” Raven raises one eyebrow perfectly, not moving her phone from where it’s suspended in front of her, lighting up her face and making her eyes look like melted chocolate.

Something clicks in Clarke’s mind, like a puzzle piece falling into place. “My chef’s knives.” Her heart beats into her throat. “The ones that belonged to my dad.”

“Shit.” Raven says.

“Shit.” Clarke agrees.

*

Clarke is hoping to just sneak into the apartment, grab her knives, and sneak out again, without anybody seeing her. She doesn’t know what happened after she left, and she couldn’t really hear anything from the closet, so she has no clue as to what Lexa is feeling. It’s better that she doesn’t get seen.

Pulling open the door closest to the kitchen, Clarke turns around so that she can press it closed softly, making sure to muffle the most amount of noise she can. The door shuts and Clarke spins, only to come face to face with Octavia. “Well, well, well.” Octavia has a smile woven onto her face and her arms crossed over her chest and it’s pretty obvious that Bellamy’s told her everything. “If it isn’t the personal chef who got a little  _too_  personal.”

“Octavia.” Clarke sighs “I really don’t want any trouble I just left my knives here and they belonged to my dad and-”

“Don’t worry Clarke I’m just playing.” Octavia smiles. “I’m just amazed you managed to unfreeze the ice queen.”

Brow furrowing, Clarke feels confusion shoot to her brain. “She’s not  _that_  icy.” Lexa wasn’t ever as bad as Octavia said, even before she got five glasses of champagne into her system. “Not to me anyway.”

Octavia gives her a once over, snorting. “Yeah obviously.”

Glaring, Clarke changes the subject. “I just came back for my knives, I’m going to take them and go.”

Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth, Octavia squints at Clarke in hesitation before finally tilting her head back and pointing. “They’re on the counter.”

“Thanks.” The word is sharp, like the end of a needle, but not impolite. Pushing past Octavia, Clarke’s eyes fall on the black case lying on the otherwise spotless counter and she reaches out, grabbing it. A weight is lifted slowly off her heart.

“Octavia.” The voice cuts through the apartment, clipped and proper. Clarke drops to the floor, hiding behind the counter with the knives pressed to her chest.

“Yes.” There’s a wobble in Octavia’s voice where she’s concealing a snigger, side eyeing Clarke who’s wide eyed and desperate.

“Where is your brother?” Lexa’s tone is cold. “I need him to find me a new chef.”

“I think Bellamy’s in the study sorting through your calendar.” Octavia replies, voice strong. A small smile drifts onto her face and she glances down at Clarke, blue mischief dripping in her eyes. “What happened to Clarke?”

From around the counter, Clarke watches Lexa tense, slowly swallowing. She composes herself quickly, and it’s almost as if she didn’t react, but the rigidness of her shoulders suggests otherwise. “Miss Griffin hasn’t shown up.” Lexa gestures to the room. “As you can see.”

Octavia steps forwards, waving her hand behind her back at Clarke, indicating that she should crawl out. Slowly, Clarke begins shuffling towards the door. Octavia keeps talking. “And what would you like me to do, Miss Woods?”

“The balcony is slightly messy.” Lexa answers firmly. “Start off there.”

Sidestepping, Octavia covers Clarke with her body. “Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

“No thank you.” Lexa’s lips raise slightly at the corners. “Clarke can do that.”

Closing her eyes, Clarke allows a moment to compose herself before climbing up off the floor, brushing off her trousers. “I’ve been caught.” She sighs.

Smirking, Lexa nods. “You are not as subtle as you think you are, Clarke.”

Hesitating, Clarke moves to stand next to Octavia. “So I’m not fired?”

“Not yet.” Lexa frowns, before adding on. “My lawyer said I couldn’t fire you.”

Clarke feels her heart sink like a shoe filled with lead in the Pacific Ocean. Swiftly, she pushes the anguish away, disguising it with a grin. “Scrambled eggs?”

Lexa smiles. “Sure.”

*

Clarkes halfway up her arms in hot water when there’s a loud knock on the door. Lexa looks up, placing her fork down on the edge of her plate and staring at the door. Absentmindedly, her hand fiddles at the fabric on the hem of her shirt and Clarke’s reminded that, even though she’s acting tough, Lexa  _has_  just had her heart broken.

“Come in.” She sounds so young, unfit for the splendour surrounding her, as if she’s been copy and pasted from somewhere else. However, her entire demeanour changes when the door swings open.

“Lex!” In the doorway stands the most stunning woman Clarke has ever seen. Her hair falls in tight black curl to her shoulders, glossy and shiny and framing her angular face. Her skin is dark and rich, smattered with constellations of freckles and her eyes are a rich brown, the colour of the chocolates left on pillows at posh hotels.

“Cos?!” Lexa stands up abruptly, every muscle in her body tensing. She hardens, her edges becoming iron. “Why are you here?”

“I’m so sorry.” Costia rushes forwards, hands outstretched and reaching for Lexa’s. “It was a mistake. I was overthinking and I just freaked out, but I’m here now. I love you.”

Staying stoic, Lexa nods slightly. “I love you too.”

Clarke feels as if someone has kicked her in the throat, making it swell up to twice its usual size. Her head spins and her stomach pangs with jealousy and she really needs to sit down because she  _should not_ be feeling jealous right now.

“Costia.” Lexa’s voice is soft and timid and Clarke notices a slight tremor in her hand.

The thrumming in Clarke’s head gets louder as Lexa drops to her knees. She watches Costia break out into a beautiful smile, her eyes welling up and her cheeks lifting. Light glints off the ring as Lexa reveals it and the diamonds, which Clarke thought were the epitome of beauty before, leave an acidic taste in her mouth and an uneasy feeling sinking in her gut.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if i missed any Briticisms

_“Can I help?” Clarke looks up at her father, half his height and stars exploding in her eyes as she smiles, gap toothed and excited._

_Sighing, Jake looks up helplessly across the room. The breath he lets out blows his strands of honey coloured hair up his forehead as he widens his eyes at his wife. Abby gives him a nod, sharp and short, and Jake gets the message._

_Crouching down, Jake smiles as his daughter throws her arms around his shoulders. “Pick me up.” She demands, small and stubborn._

_“Clarke bear,” Jake chuckles. “I thought we agreed that eight was too old to be carried. You’ll hurt daddy’s back.”_

_Refusing to let go, Clarke stomps her feet on the floor, standing her ground like a warrior. “Just this_ one _time.” The word ‘one’ is elongated, whined out as if it helps to further her argument._

_“Just this one time?” Jake questions, raising an eyebrow. He grins strangely, pressing his tongue against his bottom lip as he glances up at Abby, who’s covering her small smile with her right hand, silver rings glittering on the third and fourth finger._

_“Promise.” Clarke whispers. “No more after.”_

_“Okay pumpkin.” Jakes words are strained as he lifts Clarke up so she sits comfortably on his hip. “Up we go.”_

_“What are you making daddy?” Clarke looks down on the kitchen, enthralled by the angle she rarely gets to see. Flour is strewn messily along the counter, having fallen out of a small hole in the bottom of the red and white striped bad, dusting the mint worktop like flecks of snow on a cold winter’s day. There are a few cracked eggshells, mainly empty except for the slime that oozes out slowly around them._

_“I’m baking your mother a cake.” Jake smiles through Clarke at Abby. “Because I love her.”_

_“Eww.” Clarke’s nose wrinkles in childish disgust. “Gross.”_

_“I love you too, Clarke.” Jake teases, prodding at Clarke’s stomach with his free hand._

_“Stop.” Clarke giggles, squirming in Jake’s grasp. “I wanna make the cake.”_

_“Hmm,” Jake looks around the kitchen, his eyes scanning very surface before they finally fall on the thing he was looking for. “I’ll tell you what we can do.”_

_“What?!” Clarke is glowing, wide smile and light blonde hair curling in the sunlight that pours into the window. She buzzes with excitement._

_“You can press the button on the blender!” Jake announces, marching over to the counter where the used, batter stained, blender sits, filled with butter and sugar, eggs and vanilla._

_“Which button?” Eyebrows close together, Clarke stares down at the three buttons that are arranged side by side on the shiny surface._

_“This one.” Jake holds out a finger, pointing to the middle button. With difficulty, he finally manages to screw on the lid. “Ready?”_

_Pressing the button, Clarke watches with delight as the ingredients come to life, the sugar and the butter whirring around the cylinder as if they are performing some sort of hyper speed waltz. Clarke watches as if she can see slow motion. She is observing particles melding together in the vacuum of space, twisting and turning into each other’s orbits, classical music echoing softly in the background._

_“Okay stop.” Jake instructs and Clarke presses the button again, bring the dance to a halt. “Now we add the flour.”_

_Determined to help, Clarke reaches out for the striped bag she spotted earlier, grabbing it and attempting to pick it up, but instead pulling it over. Flour spills, a tidal wave, destroying the beach of the clean kitchen and leaving carnage in its wake. The kitchen is too quiet, the sound of the sea echoing in Clarke’s ears as Jake and Abby start to process what just happened. Clarke bursts into tears. “I’m sorry I just wanted to help and now there’s a mess and mommy can’t have her cake.”_

_“Shh.” Jake moves to action immediately, shifting Clarke so that she’s facing him. Gently, he wipes the tears off her face. “It’s okay.”_

_“Really?” Hope twinges in Clarke quiet word as she looks up at Jake through damp lashes._

_“Really.” He gives her a quick hug, rubbing his hands up and down her arms as he lets go, putting her down on the floor. “It’s okay, see, I’ll just go buy some more from the store.”_

_“Jake.” Abby sighs, about to interrupt but stopping when Jake shoots her a pointed look. She changes, softening and holding out her hand for Clarke. “I’ll watch Clarke.”_

_Running over to grab her mother’s hand, Clarke pulls herself against it, smiling. “When you get back can I press the button again?”_

_Jake grins as he shrugs on a brown jacket, rolling his shoulders so it sinks into place. “Sure baby.” He kisses Abby on the cheek. “I’ll be five minutes.”_

*

The worst thing about Costia, Clarke concludes, is that she’s too nice. Her smile is radiant and her voice is soft, kindness pours out of her skin and the way her eyes shine make Clarke long to feel whatever she’s feeling.

It’s the end of a long day. Clarkes bones feel as if they have melded together from standing up too long, her legs melding into her ankles as she shifts her weight, preparing dinner tiredly at the counter she’s been glued to all day. It’s as she’s chopping the last of the tomatoes that Costia comes bounding over, eyes as bright as the ring shining on her left hand. “Hello Clarke.” She grins, jumping up onto the counter.

Smiling Clarke looks up. “Hi.”

Nonplussed by Clarkes lack of conversations starter, Costia continues, tongue pressed against her cheek as she thinks of her next words. “How are you?”

It’s not very original, but there’s a certain amount of caring in her tone that makes Clarke almost feel bad for sleeping with her fiancée.

_Almost._

Because on the one hand, guilt is consuming. It wears away at Clarke’s insides as if she’s swallowed acid and looking at Costia or Lexa or Costia and Lexa together only serves as a catalyst to the self-destroying chemical reaction that swells up Clarke’s lungs and stops her breathing. She feels sick and unclean, as if she should scrub at her skin in the shower until it becomes red and raw, bleeding like her heart does whenever she thinks about what she did. What her and Lexa did.

But on the other hand…

Her mind longs for silk bedsheets and warm hands, soft lip pressed gently to the bottom of her neck, carving an abyss of lust. She can feel her hands twitch when she’s around Lexa, her hips feel the weight of her. It’s muscle memory, the way they moved, hot breath and sharp teeth against gentle skin.

“Clarke.”

Clarke snaps out of her haze, turning breathlessly to smile up at Costia, who sits concerned on the counter. “Yeah.”

“You kind of zoned out there.” Costia chuckles. “Tired?”

Clarke sighs. “You bet.”

“Well then.” Costia hops down from the counter and _is she ever not smiling._ Placing her hand on the worktop, she shrugs. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then, it smells great by the way!”

“Thank you.” Clarke smiles, watching Costia walk away with tired acceptance. There’s still a bounce in her step, her faded blue jeans folded up at the bottom to reveal her ankles and her purple sweater hanging loosely off one shoulder, tattered stands of cotton framing at the bottom left hand side. Guilt twists painfully in Clarkes gut and she sighs.

This would all be a whole lot easier if Costia was horrible.

*

“Thank you Clarke that was delicious.” Lexa folds her hands in her lap, sitting at the table with her back ramrod straight and her eyes everywhere but Clarke.

“I’ll help you clean up.” Costia offers, standing up quickly and pushing her chair in, making to pick up her plate.

Holding up a hand, Lexa stops her. Tiredly, she murmurs. “Cos it’s fine, I’ll do it. I know you want to finish your book.”

“You sure?” Apprehension floats in Costia’s voice, as she uncertainly places the plates down.

Lexa nods, mouth pulling at the edges and Costia smiles, kissing her on the cheek before walking off.

“So…” Clarke clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth at the silence that’s been left in the room. It’s as if Costia was filling an empty space and now she’s left and there’s nothing but a vacuum, silent and lonely. Picking at her worn nail polish, Clarke goes to stand by the window, catching the way Lexa’s leg bounces under the table.

It’s dark outside and rain patters gently against the glass. Droplets dribble down the smooth surface, and Clarke knows that if she presses her cheek to the window it’ll be refreshingly cold, but instead she leans her forehead against it, watching the sheets of rain fall out of the darkness and knock on the pane.

“It’s not much different is it?” The voice comes from behind her, soft and uncertain. Clarke turns to catch Lexa’s eyes for the first time in hours, noticing the flecks of brown amongst the green. Lexa looks drawn, tired and open, insecure as she awaits Clarkes answer.

“Much different to what?” Clarke asks, finally.

Walking over to Clarke’s side, Lexa stops when their shoulders brush, looking straight ahead out the window as if she can’t feel Clarke’s eyes burning a hole in her. “Your favourite feeling.”

Blushing, Clarke chuckles. “I was drunk when I said that.”

Lexa pauses, turning so that she meets Clarkes stare once again. Clarke can feel her body heat, which should be an indication that they’re too close but in reality who’s she kidding. She likes that Lexa doesn’t seem to notice how their breaths intermingle and how she doesn’t seem to care that their hands brush for a fraction of a second as she turns, burning second finger against thumb. Aching to reach up and run her hand through Lexa’s hair, Clarke makes sure to keep her head in place and her heart in time to the slow breathing that she’s trying very hard to keep constant. Glancing down, Lexa finally answers. “You can still mean things even if you’re drunk, Clarke.”

And Clarke has a feeling they’re not talking about the way the rain hits the glass anymore.

*

Clarke goes home around seven, having done the washing up in half the time due to Lexa’s help. She felt less dirty with her hands in hot soapy water, laughing with Lexa and making her a beard out of foam. She forgot to feel guilty for her heart accelerating every time her hands brushed her face.

Eventually, Clarke reaches her front door, giddy from the end of the day like a schoolgirl with a crush. Not that she has a crush. Because Lexa is her very much engaged boss and that would be inappropriate.

She opens the door to find Raven sprawled out on the couch, fingers pressing against her phone rapidly into the small room, as if she’s a determined monkey with a typewriter. “Hi Raven.”  There’s no response, and Clarke sighs, placing her coat on the crooked hook that’s been roughly nailed to the back of the door. Quietly, she walks up to the end of the couch, so that she’s standing above Ravens head. “Hi Raven.” She repeats.

Disgruntled, Raven pulls her eyes away from her phone screen. “Hi.” Her tone is flat, uninterested as she turns back to whatever she was doing before.

Growing agitated, Clarke snatches the phone out of Raven’s hands, making her jolt back into the couch with shock. The surprise passes pretty quickly however, because it’s less than a second before Raven jumps to her feet, daggers in her eyes. “Give that back.” Voice laced with danger, she holds out her hand expectantly.

“No.” Clarke smirks, holding the phone away from Raven. “I want to know what you were doing that was so important that you couldn’t even spare a little time for the love of your life.”

“Clarke.” Raven sighs, her lips pulling slightly up at the edges. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Gasping, Clarke holds a hand to her heart in mock accusation. “Is there someone else?”

“Yes.” Raven looks down. “Her name is-”

“I should’ve known.” Clarke interrupts, full into the swing of the game she’s playing. Judgmentally, she points at Raven. “All those late nights at the office, you never even called!”

“Babe I was busy.” Raven hides her grin behind her hand, pulling herself together to appease Clarke’s inner drama queen. “I was _working._ To bring home money for you and our five beautiful children.”

“Screwing anther girl doesn’t count as working.” Clarke waves her hand about and Raven’s eyes follow her phone, grasped in Clarke’s fingers like a rugby ball at the try line.

“Come on babe.” Raven groans, inching forwards slightly.

“Is she prettier than me?” Dramatically, Clarke falls onto the couch, wrist grazing her forehead.

“Of course.” Raven grins, the opportunity to offend Clarke distracting her from her main aim of reaching her phone. “It’s not hard.”

“Fuck off.” Sitting up, Clarke’s demeanour changes back to normal, obviously having outworn the whole betrayed wife role. A small smile sits on her lips as she holds out Raven’s phone. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t look at anything if you didn’t want me to. I was just teasing.”

Feeling a rush of affection for her oldest friend, Raven sits down on the couch next to Clarke, feeling the familiar dip in the worn cushions. The truth bubble to her lips anyway. “Her name is O.”

Wrinkling her nose, Clarke responds. “That’s a weird name.”

Lightly, Raven punches Clarke in the arm, chuckling. “It’s not her full name you idiot, just her nickname. I don’t know her full name.”

“Did you meet on the dating site?” Clarke asks, softly, care leaking into her voice.

“Yeah.” Raven smiles. “She’s really funny and nice.”

"You should meet up in person.” Clarke smiles, before adding as an afterthought. “Though bring me, just in case she’s a seventy year old man.” She blanches. “Or worse… a _republican.”_

“You’re an idiot.” Raven laughs, before sobering. “But in all seriousness I do really like her.”

“Aww.” Clarke stick out her bottom lip, making a baby voice. “Has ickle wickle Raven got a little crush?”

Apprehensively, Raven raises her eyebrows. “At least ‘ickle wickle Raven’ likes someone suitable rather than, say, her attractive, but in a committed relationship, _boss._ ”

Glaring, Clarke stands up, moving to retreat to her room. “Low blow, Reyes.”

“You love me.” Raven doesn’t turn around to look at Clarke as she answers, slumped into the couch and eyes once again on her phone.

“Hmm.” Clarke answers, before sighing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” Raven sounds like an amused mother, her tone slightly high pitched and escaping from a small smile.

“I have to cook for Lexa and Costia’s _engagement party_ tomorrow and I don’t want to because I’ll have to make loads of food.” Clarke frowns, continuing. “And Bellamy doesn’t talk to me and Octavia’s always too busy on her phone to talk to me so I only have Lexa and Costia and Costia’s too nice and Lexa’s too Lexa and ugh.” Throwing her head back Clarke groans, slumping to the floor. “I don’t want to.”

There’s a small silence before Raven speaks, eyebrows raised. “Is that all?”

“No.” Clarke pouts sulkily. “I also can’t find my shoe.”

“Which shoe?” Raven asks.

“My left one.” Shutting her eyes, Clarke crinkles her forehead together.

“That’s not what I meant but never mind.” Raven shakes her head fondly. Getting up, she quickly stretches before moving over to Clarke and crouching down. “Clarke.” She smiles knowingly.

“What?” Grumpily Clarke looks up at Raven, her eyes narrowed.

“You,” Raven extends her arm, grabbing firmly onto Clarke’s shoulders. “Are Clarke Griffin.”

“Yeah, so.”

“So,” Raven smiles. “You are going to get up off the floor, pull yourself together and keep going, because that is what we do.”

Genuinely, Clarke stares at Raven, eyes wide and caring. “The Reyes method or the Griffin method?”

Chuckling, Raven heaves herself up, offering Clarke a hand and pulling her up too. “Considering that the Griffin method includes manipulating everyone around you and drinking more alcohol than you should, I think the Reyes method.”

“Hey!” Clarke glares. “I don’t manipulate people.”

Raven attempts to hide a smile but a laugh pushes out through her lips like a cascading domino and she throws her head back, body shaking with hilarity. Clarke stares at her, unimpressed as she roars in amusement.

“I’m sorry.” She wipes her eyes. “But you are the most manipulative bitch I’ve ever met. Remember that one time you played your mom for two months by making her think you went to extra maths lessons every Friday but actually coming round mine, and then claimed the rewards for taking extra maths.”

“Okay fine.” Clarke grins. “You got me.”

“I know you better than you know yourself Griffin.” Raven throws an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “Now go have a shower and figure out what you’re cooking for that damn engagement party.”

Straightening her back, Clarke mock salutes. “Yes ma’am.”

*

Attempting to carry ten grocery bags through a classy apartment building in her second best pair of shoes and her confidence wavering is not exactly the way Clarke Griffin wanted the morning to go, but she’ll take it. Her hand trembles more than it should when she reaches the door and she knows that letting problems brew has never been a good thing for her, but she does it anyway. Guilt is growing stale in her stomach, pulling at her heart and putting acid in her throat.

Opening the door she comes face to face with Bellamy, who nods once as a greeting and takes some of the bags. Clarke sighs, relieved with the removal of the weight. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Bellamy huffs as he places the bags down onto the table.

“Bell!” Octavia shouts from across the room. “That table is still wet! I just cleaned it.”

“Oops.” Grinning, Bellamy sticks his tongue out at his little sister and Clarke feels a pang of jealousy in her chest that they have someone at their work who they can feel close to.

“Move those bags you _monster_.” Octavia glares. “Dump them on the counter or something.”

“Just for you little sis.” Hauling up the bags once again, Bellamy moves over to the counter. “Don’t know why you thought you needed so much.” He mutters, and the softness he gets when talking to Octavia falls away as he directs his words at Clarke, accusing and thin lipped.

“Well it’s a party isn’t it?” Raising an eyebrow, Clarke becomes defensive, danger leaking into her voice.

Glancing up from across the room, Octavia smiles slightly, her eyes crinkling. “Bell leave her be she’s cool.”

“Fine.” Bellamy grumbles, his shoulders relaxing a little. Turning to Clarke, more amicably this time, he explains. “It _is_ a party, Miss Woods just doesn’t have that many friends that’s all.”

The words burrow into Clarke, replaying the thought that Lexa must be lonely into her bloodstream, sucking the air out of her lungs and placing a golf ball in her throat. She empathises. There have been times in Clarke’s life when all she’s had is Raven, and she can see that all Lexa has is Costia and Clarke has _ruined_ that. Well, it’s not ruined yet, but it will be. “I can’t do this.” She sighs, mostly to herself.

“It’s just a few people.” Bellamy looks confused, eyebrows furrowed. He tilts his head a little, in the same way Octavia does. “Not that much work.”

“I mean-” Stopping mid-sentence, Clarke shakes her head. “Never mind.” She averts her eyes to the floor but not before she sees Octavia jolt up to look at her, eyebrows knitted together and mouth half open as she thinks.

“Well.” Clapping his hands together, Bellamy shoots Clarke a small smile, obviously trying for Octavia. “There’s a list of jobs for you on the side, Miss Woods wrote it out last night. Good luck.” He walks off, polished shoes tapping against the floor and arms wound behind his back, left hand clutching his right wrist.

Octavia watches him go from across the room. “My brother really needs to cut his hair.” She says loudly to Clarke. Bellamy sticks up his middle finger before leaving the room. Octavia grins.

Sighing, Clarke walks over to the piece of paper on the side.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist Griffin?” Octavia says bluntly. “I don’t really know you but yesterday you were a whole lot more chipper.”

Turning to look at Octavia, Clarke feels the truth on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t let it out, instead opting for. “Why doesn’t Bellamy like me?” 

“Ah.” Nodding sharply, Octavia stands up, throwing the cloth she was using to clean the wooden legs of the table with onto the ground. “He doesn’t not like you.” She offers, before sighing and leaning next to Clarke. The problem is that you’re a threat.”

Confused, Clarke looks Octavia in the eye. “To his job? But that’s stupid, we do completely different jobs.”

Shaking her head, Octavia speaks seriously. “No, to my job.”

“What?” Clarke looks confused.

Sighing, Octavia wrings her hands behind her back. “Here’s what you have to understand about Bellamy.” She taps her foot on the floor, toe pressed to kitchen tile. “He’s very protective. And Lexa is not someone who keeps people around for long, she may be isolated up her in her tall tower but that’s the way she likes it. Bellamy knows that Lexa would prefer a small amount of staff, so her hiring you is a danger. And you’re right, she wouldn’t fire Bell for you because you both do vaguely important jobs, but I don’t.” There’s an air of acceptance to the way Octavia’s lips pull up as the words twist out of her teeth. “We all know this place doesn’t need a cleaner,” She throws out her arms. “Look at it, it’s _spotless._ Bellamy worked so hard to get me this job and he doesn’t want you to get in the way of that, no offense.”

Taken aback, Clarke brain sticks onto the information. “So Bellamy got you the job.”

“No.” Octavia clenches her jaw, seemingly offended, and Clarke regrets opening her mouth. “ _I_ got me my job, by being so _damn_ brilliant. Bellamy just floated the idea.”

“Okay.” Unsure of how to move forward, Clarke goes with. “So you guys are pretty close then.”

“He’s all I have.” Octavia shrugs. “When you grow up with one person constantly there for you you’re going to be close.”

Thinking of Raven, Clarke nods. “I get it.”

Nodding once, Octavia’s eyes soften as she understands. Slowly, she changes her tone, her mannerisms becoming gentler, more teasing. “That’s not what was on your mind though was it?”

“What?” Taken aback, Clarke feels her heart start thumping, her hands tingle and shake so she clenches them into fists.

“Listen.” Octavia moves forwards, too close for comfort. “I know you don’t like Lexa.”

Confused, Clarke nods, not knowing what else to do, how else to explain herself.

Continuing, Octavia talks is low whispers. “It’s okay if you don’t like her. But you have to at least respect her okay? She works hard and it’s only fair that we work hard too.”

“Do you like her?” Clarke raises an eyebrow, curious.

“It doesn’t really matter.” Shrugging, Octavia steps back. “Grab your list and do your jobs.”

“Yes ma’am.” Clarke jokes, before grabbing the piece of paper off the side. It’s small, ripped out of an A5 notebook with black liquid ink elegantly scrawled along the top lines. There’s three sections, breakfast, lunch and dinner, each one with smaller writing underneath detailing exactly what Clarke needs to do. It’s laid out simply and clearly, as if Lexa is treating her like a child. Scoffing, Clarke begins to read the breakfast heading.

_ Breakfast _

_Clarke. Please make some scrambled egg on toast and deliver it to my room by ten O clock, Costia will be having some too. Thank you._

It’s no novel, but it’ll do. Clarke re reads it once, checking the time – ten past ten. Shit. She kicks into action like a jumpstarted car, making no effort to be quiet as she pulls a pan out of one of the many cupboards that surround the kitchen. Rushing, she throws butter at the pan, making sure it lands accurately and pretending not to here Octavia’s little “score!” from across the room.

It’s a race. She’s already late and her hands are clumsy as she hurries, whisking up the eggs and putting in the toast at the same time.

“You okay?” Octavia raises an eyebrow, laughter in her voice, as Clarke pours the mixture into the pan.

“Yeah.” Clarke takes a deep breath, steadying her body against the counter. She grabs a spatula and stirs the mixture slowly in the pan, being careful not to spill it.

“Clarke chill.” Octavia smiles, pausing from dusting the bookshelf. “Lexa’s not going to mind that you’re a little late. Probably.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke smiles as the eggs start to solidify. “Thanks for that.” She says, sarcastically. Silence falls at a lack of response from Octavia, and Clarke spins around to see her on her phone. “Ugh.” Loudly, Clarke scoffs, causing Octavia to look up. “You’re as bad as my roommate.”

“You have a roommate?” Octavia asks, just as the toast pops.

Nodding, Clarke places the toast on two separate place, buttering each slice. “Yup.” She smiles, moving over to pick up the pan. It’s heavy and the end of the handle is slightly warm, having inducted some of the heat from the hob. “Childhood friend.” She scrapes the eggs onto the toast.

“Must be nice.” Octavia’s voice drifts as her eyes move down to her phone screen again and Clarke rolls her eyes, picking up the two plates she prepared.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

There’s no reply.

*

Clarke’s not going to lie and say she didn’t spend five minutes standing outside Lexa’s bedroom door, psyching herself up to walk in, because she did, heart thumping louder than a full blast radio and ricocheting against her lungs. In the end it was the prospect of food going cold that pushed her through the door.

Knocking sharply, Clarke waits for a “come in” before carefully pushing the door open with her bum, making sure not to spill the two plates she’s holding. “Hello?”

It’s hard to pretend not to be affected by Lexa and Costia. In bed. Together. Lexa glances up as Clarke walks in, a smile still ghosting her face from where she was murmuring to Costia not seconds ago. She straightens her back, keeping her hand firm on the covers and clearing her throat. “Clarke.” She’s radiant, even now as the morning sun drifts through the window and shadows grow from the creases in the blanket.

“Lexa.” Clarke replies, as if this isn’t one of the most awkward moments she’s ever been in. Forcing a smile, she lifts up the plates. “Breakfast?”  

“That looks really good.” Costia shuffles backwards, holding the duvet and craning her neck to see the plates. “Thanks Clarke!”

“No problem.” Speaking gradually, Clarke walks forwards. “Um.” Her brow furrows as she attempts to look anywhere but Lexa. “Where do you want this?”

“Here.” Expectantly, Lexa holds out her hands and so much for no eye contact. Clarke begrudgingly hands the plate across, heart in her mouth.

“Anything else?” Wringing her now empty hands together, Clarke examines the carpet, flitting her eyes back and forth until they land on – “My shoe!”

The room freezes, colour leaking out of the walls as Clarke realises her mistake. Gradually she feels her cheeks grow warm and she can’t bring herself to look up. She feels sick in the same way you do when you eat too early in the morning, dizzy and about to puke. Deliberately, she speaks, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. “Octavia must have hidden it in here when we were joking around.”

It’s uncertain and unbelievable, and with force Clarke drags her eyes up to meet Costia and Lexa’s inquisitive stares. Slowly, Lexa raises an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching as she attempts not to smile. Clarke glares at Lexa, feeling her blood boil at the fact this all seems to be a joke to her. Hastily, she picks up her shoe. “Okay I’m going to leave now.” Her voice stays steady as she turns, not even glancing behind her before rushing out the room.

She bumps into Bellamy in the corridor, holding the shoe to her chest as she crashes into his front, a wave on an unsuspecting shoreline. “Whoa there.” Bellamy chuckles, stepping back. His brows furrow together. “Clarke?”

“Yep.” Clarke pulls herself together, her voice catching slightly on the syllable that escapes her mouth. Her heart is still beating rapidly inside her head and she shouldn’t be affected by this. She shouldn’t. But the bedroom was awkward and the shoe was more awkward and the way Lexa’s face changed, eyebrow raised and smile teasing, have pushed her over the edge.

“You okay?” Bellamy’s voice holds none of the hostility from before, and instead grows warm in the way it does when he’s laughing and smiling with Octavia. “Why do you have a shoe?”

“It’s my shoe.” Clarke answers, looking up at him.

A smile pulls at his lips. “You don’t seem so sure about that?” 

“I’m sure.” Clarke manages a smile, side-stepping past Bellamy. “The other one’s at home though so I have no way to prove it.”

“Hmm.” Narrowing his eyes, Bellamy mocks. “I guess I’ll let you off this time.”

“Well I am believable.” Clarke shrugs, moving the shoe into one hand, she gestures behind her. “I have to go cook for the party. Duty calls.”

“Bye.” Bellamy grins. “Try not to look so upset all the time.”

“I’ll try.” Turning around, Clarke rolls her eyes. She has a feeling that she won’t be able to help it.

*

“So then the man walks up to the horse and says-”

“I’ll have eight chickens and a cabbage please.” Clarke grins. “I’ve heard it before.”

“What!” Octavia is lying on the floor, blue eyes looking up to the ceiling and hair splayed out around her head like an explosion, seemingly given up on work for the day. “How?”

Chuckling, Clarke moves to the cupboards to grab some ingredients for the cake she’s prepping. “It’s my roommate’s favourite joke.”

“Ugh.” Octavia sits up, her hair falling down her shoulders as she does. Propping herself up with her hands, she smirks. “I’d like to meet your roommate someday.”

Glancing at Octavia, Clarke takes in her playful smile, the way her eyes seem to spark with laughter. She’s beautiful, dark hair and muscular build, toned arms that stretch out behind her and an honest face. “Yeah.” Genuinely, Clarke smiles. “I’m sure she’d like to meet you too.”

“Interesting?” Octavia raises an eyebrow. “Is she hot?”

Snorting, Clarke rolls her eyes. “What are you, a frat boy?” At the persistence in the look Octavia gives her, Clarke sighs, a smile lifting her face. “Yes.”

“She just a roommate?” Octavia’s lips twitch up at one end as she waits for Clarke’s response.

“What’s up with the twenty questions?” Clarke grabs the sugar off the shelf and puts it in the pile of ingredients she’s accumulated on the side.

“Just curious.” Lying back down, Octavia places both her hands on her stomach. “It’s okay you don’t have to tell me.”

“No it’s fine.” Clarke quickly skims the cake recipe to check she’s not missing any ingredients. “We tried dating once.” She forgot the flour. “Well actually it was me her and a guy, Finn, when we split he went off and we stayed together. Not out of meanness, I think he just wanted to see more of the world.” There’s no flour in the cupboards either. “She and I decided we were better off as friends anyway and we’re still roommates.”

“And it’s not awkward.” Octavia looks at Clarke, both eyebrows raised in interest.

“Nope.” Clarke leans on the counter, elbows pressed down onto the cold hard surface. “We’re really close anyway. I’d seen her naked pretty much before I could walk so.” She shrugs. “Hey do you know if Lexa has any flour stored anywhere?” 

“Umm. I’m not sure.” Octavia taps her hand against the floor. “Go ask her.”

“Okay.” Clarke makes to leave but as she glances up she sees Lexa enter the room.

Fondly, Lexa smiles down at Octavia. “Don’t you have work to do Octavia?”

Jumping to her feet, Octavia smiles. “Yup.”

There’s a sternness to Lexa’s voice, but it’s muted by her relaxed shoulders. “You better get going then.”

“Yes ma’am.” Turning, Octavia rolls her eyes at Clarke before walking out the room, shoving her hands in her pockets as she does.

There’s a beat of silence where Lexa stays glued to the spot in the middle of the living room, staring across at Clarke with half lidded eyes as if she’s frozen on the edge of a sentence, like a stuck DVD just as a character’s about to monologue. She sighs heavily, and Clarke watches her shoulders cascade heavily before she speaks. “Clarke.” It’s a monotonous greeting, robotic and forced.

Remembering the events of the morning, Clarke narrows her eyes and tilts her chin up. “Lexa.” She replies.

Moving forwards, Lexa walks almost uncertainly to the counter. She’s dressed casually, and Clarke’s guessing it’s because she’s going to change for the party later. It’s unfair, really, that she still looks stunning in jogging bottoms and a white t shirt, her hair curling over her shoulders, messy and frizzy but with a softness to it.

“What are you making?” Lexa asks, and she _knows_ what Clarke is making because she wrote it on the list, but Clarke still answers anyway.

“I’m making the cake but there’s no-” She remembers. “Do you have any flour?”

“Flour?” Brows furrowing, Lexa’s bottom lip juts out ever so slightly as she thinks. “No…? I don’t think so.” She leans against the counter.

“It’s okay.” Clarke takes a step back from the counter just as Lexa leans against it, as if they are two magnets and she has to oblige the opposing force. “I’ll just go buy some.”

“You don’t have to do that Clarke.” Lexa stands up straight, letting her arms dangle at her sides. “I can go buy some for you, it’s not like I have work to do today.”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head.

“Excuse me.” Lexa’s voice is defensive, head held high as she looks down on Clarke. A second passes, Clarke’s shoulders rigid and defiant, and Lexa glaring down at her, as if they are caught in a twisted game of try not to blink, before they are interrupted by a ginger cat jumping onto the counter.

Lexa’s expression softens and her shoulders fall as she leans forwards to pick up the cat, her eyes melting as she coos. “Hello Sal.” The cat purrs, curling up in her arms.

Smiling slightly, Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Sal?”

“Yes.” Lexa tickles the cat behind the ear. “I wanted to call him Sally after Sally Ride but Cos insisted that was a girl’s name so we settled on Sal.” She strokes the cat, long fingers trailing down the glossy orange hair. Clarke watches as a cloud of loose fur falls to the floor. Sal meows contently and Lexa smiles, leaning forwards. “Do you want to hold him?”

Clarke’s heart picks up and she nods, meeting Lexa’s eyes. “Okay.” Lips pulling up slightly, Lexa moves her arms forward, making sure to cradle Sal so that he’s not uncomfortable, placing him in Clarke’s arms. He’s soft and heavy, and Clarke shifts her arms so that he’s secure, hypersensitive to the way her hands brush Lexa’s, her skin warm and exhilarating.

Sal tilts his head up at Clarke, looking up at her with his big yellow eyes, purring softly as Clarke tickles under his chin.

Lexa smiles widely. She’s all soft edges, burry and kind with eyes green and glowing like wishing stars. She speaks, her voice subdued and gentle as she reaches out to stroke Sal once, resting her hand on Clarke’s arm. “He likes you.”

Clarke smiles gradually, lifting up her chin so that she’s looking at Lexa. She shifts Sal over, adjusting his weight so that she can touch Lexa’s hand, her heart beating loudly as they touch, tightening in her throat. Lexa glances down at their hands, swallowing and moving her fingers to hold Clarkes.

Nervously, Clarke looks up from their hands, eyes wide and almost hopeful. She can fool herself all she tries, about how Lexa has Costia and she _has_ to be the bigger person. She can tell herself that she’s bigger than this, run away, but deep down, Clarke knows that this is what she wants. Catching movement behind Lexa, Clarke narrows her eyes, retracting her hand as if she’d been touching fire a she sees Costia standing in the doorway, looking right at her with her eyebrows knitted together in confusing.

Lexa startles at the sudden movement, following Clarke’s eyes to behind her and smiling weakly, her voice unconvincing. “Cos.”

“Hey Lex.” Costia smiles, the ghost of confusion still settled on her features. “I was just coming to see what you were up to.”

“Clarke’s baking our cake.” Lexa swallows again, tiling her head up and trying to smile, her lips weakly moving as she moves over to Costia, taking her hand.

Clarke feels sick. Placing Sal on the floor she watches as he struts over to the couch and curls up on it, before she stands back up again, posture rigid as she faces Lexa and Costia, a fake smile on her face. “Unfortunately there’s no flour so Lexa was just telling me I could go home and grab some.”

“I-” Lexa narrows her eyes, glaring at Clarke who simply tilts her chin up in challenge. “I did.” She relaxes. “Be back quickly Clarke.”

“Will do.” Gritting her teeth, Clarke grabs her coat and leaves the apartment, before she can dig herself into a deeper hole.

*

_“Daddy lied.” Clarke’s fingers follow the quite ticking of the clock as she sits on Abby’s lap. “He’s taking forever.”_

_“He’ll be back soon sweetheart.” Abby smiles, running her fingers down the back of Clarke’s hair. It’s growing long, pale blonde and tangled, curling at the ends. “Then you can finish making the cake.”_

_“I wanna make it now.” Clarke whines, impatiently jiggling her legs. “He said five minutes and it’s been at least thirty.”_

_“You know your dad.” Fondness leaks into Abby’s voice as she talks about her husband. “He’s always getting distracted by the littlest things. Just like you.”_

_The phone rings sharply, jolting through the peaceful kitchen and Abby looks up. “Clarke shuffle off.”_

_Doing as she’s told, Clarke hops down from Abby’s lap, watching in wide eyed curiosity as she reaches for the phone. There’s a muted conversation and Abby deflates, the colour leaking out of her as if she is a watercolour painting in a hurricane.  Slowly, she puts down the phone, her face sunken and thin lipped, eye’s watering as she faces Clarke._

*

“Miss Griffin.” Raven gasps as she slams through the door of their apartment. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be at work?” Clarke fires back, as she pipes icing around the edges of her assembled cake.

“Nah.” Raven throws her coat on the floor and Clarke glares at her. “They let me off early.” She moves to stand next to Clarke, peering over her shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“Making a cake for the stupid engagement party.” Clarke growls the words in frustration.

“Okay…?” Raven smiles, dipping her finger in the bowl of icing only to get a slap on the back of her hand.

“No.”

“Can I ask, Clarke,” Leaning against the counter, Raven gets in Clarke’s way, forcing her to look up in exasperation. “Why are you making a cake here, in _our_ kitchen with _our_ shitty oven and _our_ ingredients that we _paid_ for, rather than back at Ms. Fancy’s flat where she pays for everything and has kitchen equipment that, you know, works?”

Sighing, Clarke pauses the icing, hands frozen in mid-air above the cake, as if they’re suspended by strings. She meets Ravens eyes. “Lexa’s being difficult. Also she told me I could go home and get some flour, but I just decided to make the whole cake at home because at worst she could fire me and I’m starting to think that’s not a bad thing.”

 Raven places her hands on the counter, bracing herself as she lifts her body up to sit on it. “Share time?”

“Fine.” Sighing as she finishes the last of the icing, Clarke places the cake to the side. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?” Raising an eyebrow, Raven leans forwards. “Your job? Or Lexa.”

A smirk finds its way onto her lips and Clarke slaps her arm lightly. “Shut up.” Groaning in defeat, she crumbles to the counter, head falling into her hands and blonde hair softly slipping between her fingers. “For one Lexa is engaged.”

“It’s been established.” Raven says, softly.

“I _know_ that.” Clarke complains, her words muffled. “But _she_ hasn’t quite gotten the memo. God,” Clarke sighs. “I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it.”

Raven is thoroughly confused. “Doing what?”

“She just _looks_ at me…”

“So you’re upset because your boss is looking at you.” Raven’s definitely enjoying this, her mouth quirked upwards in a small smile and her eyes playful.

“ _No._ ” Clarke snarls. “It’s the way she does it, all longing and I’m probably just making it up in my head, but then she touches for too long and I can’t help but think.”

“Clarke.” Raven says sharply. “Here’s my advice, get over yourself.”

“What?” Clarke is offended, her eyes hurt as she lifts her head to look at Raven.

Shrugging, Raven hops down from the counter. “You heard me. Listen,” She places a hand on Clarkes shoulder. “You control your own life, no one else does. If you want Lexa to stop, tell her to stop, it’s that simple.”

“You’re right.” Clarke sighs, smiling slightly. “Why are you always so right?”

“I’m just a wise ass.” Raven cracks a smile, before seriously asking. “Is there anything I can do right now to help you though?”

“Umm, yeah actually.” Clarke nods. “Could you call Lexa’s apartment and tell her that I’ll be back in ten minutes with the cake, whilst I package this thing.” She hands Raven her mobile, pulling up Lexa on her contact lists.

“Sure.” Raven taps the phone, putting it to her ear, as Clarke gets to work, listening to one side of the conversation.

“Hello.” Raven has that voice on, the overly smiley work call voice that gets her out of trouble far too often. “Clarke asked me to call-” She’s interrupted, listening to the person speak on the end of the line with a smile growing on her face. She glances across at Clarke, teasing as she says into the phone. “Why yes, I _am_ the hot roommate.”

Clarke mentally slaps herself, of course it’s Octavia at the other end of the line.

Raven giggles. “I’m sure you’re not too bad yourself-” She’s interrupted again as a name is passed through the phone line to her lips, making them curl upwards softly and her eyes brighten. “ _Octavia._ ” And it’s obvious she’s parroting it back to someone, with her voice melting and Clarke has a feeling she’s just watched the titanic set off.

Gesturing at Raven to hurry up, Clarke rolls her eyes. “Just tell her what I wanted you to.”

Scoffing, Raven does as she’s told. “Anyway Octavia, Clarke wants to say that she’s going to be back with the cake anytime now.” There’s silence before Raven lets out a laugh. “Yeah I know she is. Okay I’m going to go.” She drops her voice. “Hopefully we’ll talk again. Bye Octavia.” She takes the phone away from her ear and hands it back to Clarke.

Sighing, Clarke shoots Raven a scrutinising look. “Do you really have to flirt with everyone?”

“Hey!” Raven smiles. “She flirted with me.” Her eyes glint. “Oh and thanks for calling me hot Clarke.”

“Shut up.” Clarke grins. “You are hot. But don’t you have a thing with that girl from the dating site… O?”

“Oh.” Raven waves her hand. “We’ve not established it’s a thing, we’re just flirting over text because it’s fun and wastes time. Don’t you know how dating sites work?”

“I’m going.” Clarke smiles, fond exasperation in her voice as she picks up the packaged cake and walks towards the door.

“Is Octavia hot though?” Raven calls after her, just as she reaches the door.

Shaking her head with affection, Clarke chuckles. “I’m going.” She repeats, before leaving the apartment.

*

The party is… not what Clarke expected. Bellamy said small but the apartment is almost crowded. Rich jewels string around the necks of middle aged women, hair neatly pulled back and dresses wrapped around them in beige and pastel pink, and Clarke is reminded yet again of the fact that Lexa is, in fact, _loaded._

She pours herself a glass of champagne from one of the many bottles on the kitchen counter, sipping it and letting the golden bubbles warm her up. The chatter around her is overwhelming, and if Clarke squints she can just about make out Lexa though the small swarm of people, her dark hair twisted neatly into a braid that falls down one of her shoulders. Catching Clarke’s eye, Lexa stops, staring across the room with the face of a child seeing the ocean for the first time. The whole rooms comes to a halt and Clarke’s mouth dries. Looking away, she downs her glass of champagne, letting the noise of the room come flowing back in.

When she looks back, Lexa’s talking to the woman next to her.

Clarke heads out to the balcony, it’s the evening and the sun has caught the gasoline of the sky, letting it erupt into orange streaks. She sits down on one of the chairs, letting the quietness enrapture her.

The breeze blows softly through her hair, and she shivers slightly, but it doesn’t matter in comparison to the way the evening sun melts into the windows of skyscrapers.

Someone sits down next to her, a disturbance, and Clarke knows without turning her head that it’s Lexa. She speaks after a few beats, as if she couldn’t quite figure out what to say. “It’s very beautiful isn’t it?” And Clarke can feel the half lidded gaze burning through the side of her face. “Champagne?” Lexa offers, and Clarke accepts, downing the glass.

Chuckling, Lexa shakes her head. “Be careful.” She echoes Clarke’s words from a memory of a darker night, her voice merely a whisper. “You drink too much too fast and you never know what will happen.”

“Lexa.” Clarke sighs, Raven’s words from earlier echoing in her mind. “You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” Brow furrowed, Lexa’s mouth hangs slightly open in confusion.

“This.” Clarke turns to face her. “You need to stop acting all suggestive towards me.”

“I’m not-” Lexa’s eyes darken. “Clarke I’m just being nice.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Clarke argues. “You can’t drop lines like ‘you can still mean things even if you’re drunk, Clarke.’ Or ‘you never know what’ll happen’ and expect me to believe that you’re not doing anything.”

“Clarke-” Lexa starts, but Clarke’s not finished.

“Listen Lexa. We slept together.” At the words, Lexa closes her eyes slowly, taking in a deep breath. Clarke continues. “But we are _adults_. It’s no big deal. You just need to get past this,” She waves her hand. “Thing that you’ve gotten stuck on and stop acting like a child with a crush, because it’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to Costia.” Clarke stands up, the anger of a hurricane roaring out of her. “Figure out what you want Lexa.” She instructs, before walking back into the crowded apartment, leaving Lexa sitting out in the cold.

*

“You okay Clarke?”

Clarke has her back to the oven, legs bent in the short space between her and the counter. Her heart feels heavy and she sighs, looking up at perhaps the last person she wants to talk to right now. “Yes.” She replies.

Costia slides to the floor next to her. “Lexa?”

“Maybe.” Picking at the floor, Clarke looks down, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. Her throat feels tight and tired and her soul feels like lead.

Sighing, Costia looks up. “Listen, I know she can be difficult sometimes. But you just have to see through that, she is truly a wonderful person.”

“Sure.” Clarke mumbles, unable to meet Costia in the eye. Beautiful, kind Costia, who is trying to convince Clarke to get closer to Lexa when in actual fact Clarke should stay further away.

“I don’t understand why you and Lexa don’t get along anyway.” Costia continues, generous and oblivious. “You seem like you would be good friends if you tried to understand each other. What’s stopping you?” Costia asks the question to Clarke but it stays suspended in the air, uncertain of who’s going to answer it. Clarke can practically hear Costia’s brain kick into gear, and all she can think is _any second now_ on repeat, prophesizing doom.

Silence falls as Clarke refuses to speak, guilt crushing down on her like the sky on Atlas and she doesn’t think she’s strong enough to hold up the world anymore.

“Clarke?” Costia says after a while, and the tone of her voice is careful, like a footstep amongst broken glass.

Clarke’s heart seizes, going into overdrive. “Yes.” She whispers. 

“Do you have a thing for my fiancé?”

*

_“I’m sorry sweetheart.” Abby leans down to pick up Clarke and she’s shaking, trembling all over as tears start to fall from her eyes, skydiving into splashes erupting on the floor. “Daddy’s never coming home.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> please come and talk to me about this AU at cocktaviablake.tumblr.com I'm tagging everything yhau and screaming into the void


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